


Bread in bleak midwinter

by acaramelmacchiato



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, voksen is a fandom too
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Bread, Gen, I just noticed there is only one emdash in this, breaaaaaaaaaaad, breaaaaad, everything's okay - Hugo you can go home, voksen, we don't need you on this one Hugo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:23:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acaramelmacchiato/pseuds/acaramelmacchiato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New Bishop Bienvenu Myriel stops for some delicious bread at a bakery in Faverolles. A billet doux to Voksen's <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/788442">The five loaves of Jean Valjean</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bread in bleak midwinter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voksen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voksen/gifts).
  * Inspired by [the five loaves of Jean Valjean](https://archiveofourown.org/works/788442) by [voksen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voksen/pseuds/voksen). 



It happened one night that Monseigneur Bienvenu, on his way to Paris from Saint-Quentin where he had visited the monastery, felt midnight approach and elected to rest as he came upon another Picard commune, Faverolles, where he had never been.

The year was 1806, a cold winter that took a morose character in the northern countryside. He slept in an inn, left before breakfast, and quickly regretted it. There was a baker’s shop, with warm candlelight behind the glass (the sun had not yet risen) and smoke puffing from the chimney. He went inside, thinking to buy a rye loaf for his journey. There was one in the window display, he thought he would not mind buying one like it.

Inside, he was met by the baker, who was setting an oil lamp on his table. The man was his own age, with vigorous movements that made him seem more youthful. 

“Good morning,” said the bishop. “I am sorry to bother you when it is this early -- I hope to buy one of your cheap loaves, yesterday’s will do, or the one in the window if yesterday’s has been sold?”

“You’re traveling,” the baker observed in his Picard accent. “Have you far to go?”

“I go to Paris.”

“A cold journey,” said the baker, wiping his hands on his apron in universal habit of his profession. “Come, my name is Isabeau, I have lived here in Faverolles all my life and I tell you that the cold is cruel in these winters. You shall have fresh bread, still hot, and if the  _molettes_ are finished, some of those as well.”

The bishop shook his head at this enterprising kindness.

“I need only one loaf, thank you.”

But M. Isabeau was calling out “Valjean!” through a door, and in a moment a man of some thirty years, with the broad-shouldered strength that made a good soldier and a patient disposition, appeared in the doorway.

“Valjean, fetch this worthy gentleman one of the hot loaves you have set out.”

Valjean disappeared in silence, and when he came back he with the loaf in his hands, steam was still rising from it.

“Here you are,” said the baker’s assistant, and handed the loaf carefully to the bishop, treating it as if it was fragile.

“And we shall not accept his money,” said M. Isabeau.

“And we shall not accept your money,” Valjean repeated, and with this humor the bishop perceived intelligence in his face. “You go to Paris? The road is long, and it is cold, you will not make it without kindness.”

“Or without bread,” M. Isabeau interjected. “And you are lucky to have stopped here instead of Moreau’s, for ours is the finest in Faverolles.”

The bishop smiled and thanked them. “If your bread is of the same quality as your apprentice’s kindness, which I am sure it is, I shall always praise the bakers of Faverolles. Thank you both, and good morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Haha why is Myriel in Faverolles fucked if I know
> 
> 2\. "Take these children, my lord, to thy embraaaaaaace and show them breaaaaaaad"
> 
> 3\. Oops I forgot Courfeyrac again. He's being born somewhere.
> 
> 4\. My god that title right. It's because of BREADDDDD.


End file.
